


For Science (or the The Time Jim Kirk Wore Panties and Liked It.)

by livelongandgetiton



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Panties, Panty Kink, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelongandgetiton/pseuds/livelongandgetiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim likes to wear lacy, frilly panties. He's also a lot less surreptitious than he supposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Science (or the The Time Jim Kirk Wore Panties and Liked It.)

It had started out as a drunken joke.

 

Get the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise the laciest, skankiest, most downright ridiculous pair of pink satin panties in this or any universe. It was for his _un_ birthday party, as Bones called it—since he knew the things Jim associated with his birthday. It was just a few of them; Sulu, Bones, Mitchell, a couple of friends from Engineering that he’d met at the academy.  
  
And it was a _joke._ And then Uhura showed up with Chekov and some Saurian brandy, and a game of truth or dare commenced, and everyone was a little bit plastered and Jim ended up _in_ the laciest, skankiest, most downright ridiculous pink satin panties in the quadrant (and thankfully threatened to court-marshal anyone who took a picture).  
  
And maybe it was just because he was drunk, or having a good time, or whatever—but Jim kind of liked it.  
  
Only problem was, pink wasn’t his color.

 

*

  
The first time he wore the panties to shift, he convinced himself it was still part of the joke. That, and he’d been rather negligent about laundry, and was officially out of clean briefs. The panties were just sitting there in his drawer, innocent, waiting to be worn. So he indulged.  
  
And now, he sat in the command chair during Alpha shift with the pink, lacy monstrosity riding up his ass. And he couldn’t stop smiling.  
  
It felt so deliciously wrong, and James T. Kirk would be a liar if he said that he didn’t like doing the wrong thing every now and again, just to fuck with people.  
  
He shifted in his seat, stomach jumping excitedly at the soft slide of satin across his hipbones and cock, the tight stretch of it across his ass. He could feel the lace tickling the junction of his thighs and hips, and briefly contemplated the marks the tight garment would leave on his skin if he wore it all day. His stomach gave another excited leap and he felt a spark of heat wash over him.  
  
 _No wonder chicks wear these things_ , he thought, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

 

“Captain?” The sound of his first officer’s voice pulled him from his reverie.  
  
Jim’s eyes refocused and he cleared his throat, the tips of his ears heating up in mild embarrassment, even though he knew Spock couldn’t tell what he was thinking—at least, not without touching him (and _wow_ that was _not_ the train of thought he would like to board at the current moment because touching and hot Vulcans and he was still in panties--)  
  
“Yes, Mr. Spock?” he spoke, proud of himself for the only _slightly_ elevated pitch of his voice.

 

And there it was—that goddamn head tilt, which was way cuter than it had any right to be.  
  
“Are you unwell, captain? You appear unfocused, and slightly flushed. Perhaps it would behoove you to visit Doctor McCoy in sickbay for the remainder of the shift.” Spock spoke clearly and clinically, but his dark eyes shone with something that might have been mistaken for concern in a human.

 

And damn it, that was not helping the current… _predicament_ that Jim found himself in. Namely, little Jimmy had taken an interest in current affairs.  
  
 _Play it cool._  
  
Jim cleared his throat and subtly adjusted his uniform pants. As subtly as he could while sitting in his usual spread eagle, anyway.  
  
“I’m fine, Spock, really. I just let my thoughts get away from me.”  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the captain (as said captain attempted not to squirm under the scrutiny) for a few seconds longer than normal, but he eventually turned away.  
  
Jim breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  
  
And after Alpha shift was over, if he went back to his quarters and jacked off furiously to the mental image of his first officer _enthusiastically_ fucking him in lacy satin panties—well, that was his business and no one else’s.

 

*

It became not-so-much-a-joke when Uhura found out. Well, when he _told_ Uhura. Because, again, he was a little drunk—and that was how bad things always happened with Jim Kirk.

 

Over the course of their five year mission, Jim and his communications officer had become closer friends (and it also helped that her and Spock had broken up, and she stopped being competition…) and often had late-night, drunken bitching sessions.

 

And midway through the course of one of these bitching sessions, Uhura had shifted in her seat, slim thighs rubbing together as a grimace crossed her face.  
  
“Aw, damn. These panties always give me a wedgie,” she said, her voice barely slurred but humorous nonetheless due to the solemn expression that crossed her face. “Lace panties are so uncomfortable. Too flimsy.”  
  
Hazier than his companion and zoning out until the word ‘panties’ was mentioned, Jim spoke without much forethought, his eyes cast pensively (blurrily) up at the bulkheads.  
  
“Really? I like ‘em. Soft. Mm. Feel nice,” he trailed off as Uhura stared on in incredulity.  
  
And then came the smirk, which never meant anything good.  
  
“You been putting your birthday present to good use, Kirk?” she tilted her head, long ponytail spilling over her shoulder. “Or should I say Princess Kirk?”  
  
“That’s _Captain_ Princess Kirk to you,” Kirk slurred, a hiccup forcing its way out of him on the last word.

 

Uhura leaned forward, a predatory grin on her face.  
  
“Be real with me, _Captain._ You _really like_ those panties, don’t you? You can tell me. Just between us girls.”  
  
Kirk scowled and felt his cheeks color. He wished his brain-to-mouth filter didn’t fly off into the cosmos every time he got tipsy. It barely functioned sober.

 

“So what if I do?” he mumbled, face burning as he pretended to scratch an itch on his nose (though with his drunken trajectory he ended up smacking himself in the face instead). “They’re nicer than Starfleet standard issue…and silkier…”  
  
Uhura bellowed out a loud laugh, a bit piercing and hysterical.

 

“Oh, baby, you’ve got it bad! Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve seen something like this, though,” she drawled, feigning nonchalance as Kirk’s eyes grew wide.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really really. Tell you what, _capitán,_ next shore leave? We’re going on a little shopping trip. Just you and me. And I promise to keep your little secret if you just humor me with this…” She paused, a dangerous glint shone in her eyes as they met Kirk’s. “Deal?”  
  
 _Oh boy_. _I’m screwed,_ the Kirk inner-monologue whined, and the inebriated captain quickly shooed it off.  
  
“Deal.”

 

*  
As it turned out, this deal involved Kirk simply having to show off every pair he tried on--to Uhura’s extreme amusement. It wasn’t like he minded—Jim knew he had a nice body. And nice…assets.  
  
By the end of the shore leave he ended up with 10 new pairs of panties, and an adrenalin rush to match his drill-hopping days.  
  
And so, he began just wearing one pair once a week, just to have that one special day to look forward to. And then he began wearing it two times a week. And then three. Eventually, the great Captain James Tiberius Kirk was wearing silk on his crotch every goddamn shift, and he was loving it.  
  
There was one particular pair, however, that he loved more than all the others. It was a pale blue color, almost gray—with light charcoal stripes down the front, and black lace trimming around the edges. It fit just right, and it made his cock look ridiculously huge against the flimsy fabric. He was almost late to Alpha shift several times after spending longer than necessary checking out his ass in the mirror in his quarters the mornings he wore them.  
  
And then came the fateful day when the communications console malfunctioned. And Jim happened to be wearing his favorite pair of panties.  
  
It seemed that it always came back to Uhura when he played the mental blame-game.  
  
“Lieutenant? What are you doing down there?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting as he surveyed his Communications Officer crouched by the floor on her station, one of the panels at the console removed and tossed haphazardly on the floor beside her.  
  
Her hands were engulfed in the innards of the console, her neck craned uncomfortably in concentration. Her head tilted slightly, but she did not turn around to answer.  
  
"Console’s busted, captain. I think it’s just some faulty circuitry, though, I should be able to—OW! Shit!”  
  
A few sparks flew from the gutted console with a sharp cracking noise, startling a good quarter of the bridge crew. Jim sprung up from the captain’s chair, his brow set in concern as he strode quickly over to where Uhura crouched, her index finger in her mouth and a scowl on her face that deepened as she noticed Jim approaching her.  
  
“Captain, I’m perfectly capable of—”  
  
“I know you are, lieutenant. But someone in my crew has sustained an injury—“  
  
he held up a hand to silence her as her mouth began to open, no doubt in indignation, to reply.  
  
“I just wanna look, okay? I do not doubt your abilities in the slightest,” Jim smiled at her, bending over to be at the proper eye level.  
  
She rolled her eyes but suppressed a smile, scooting to the side a little bit to let him see inside.  
  
Spock’s voice sounded from somewhere behind him, but it was too difficult to turn around in his position.  
  
“Captain, perhaps it would be more prudent to call down Chief Engineer Scott to assess the damage—”  
  
“Nah,” he craned his neck to the side and spoke in his first officer’s general direction as he moved into a crouch, resting his weight on the balls of his feet and leaning forward to look into the darkened space. “I don’t want Scotty getting his panties in a bunch over some faulty circuitry, if that’s what it is, and since I trust Uhura’s judgment, I believe that’s exactly what it is.”  
  
If Jim had been fully paying attention to his first officer at that moment, he may have noticed that there was, eerily, no witty rejoinder or barely-contained sass in response to what he’d said, only silence. And, had he been _looking_ at said first officer, instead of into the bowels of the bridge, he might’ve noticed that a certain Vulcan had his eyes _glued_ to his captain’s ass, face barely containing shock and a hint of something else (something dark), at the sight of the top hem of a pair of lacy, blue, charcoal and black panties sticking out of the top of said captain’s uniform pants.

 

Later during that same shift, a harried-looking yeoman came scuttling onto the bridge, three pads stacked precariously atop each other and teetering in her arms as she rushed to give them to bridge members. Right as she began to descend the steps to reach the captain’s chair, the stylus from the last pad went flying, landing with a rather loud clatter at Kirk’s feet. Several of the bridge members turned around, chuckling slightly at the look of horror on the embarrassed yeoman’s face.  
  
“Captain Kirk! I’m so sorry, let me get that,” she tittered, her eyes wide with worry.  
  
“That’s alright, yeoman, no big deal. I got it,” Kirk chuckled, standing up and bending down to grab the stylus, starting when he heard the sound of a pad colliding sharply with the floor behind him.  
  
Surprised, he turned around to find Spock, at his science station, eyes wide and face slightly green. The pad he’d been holding in his hands was on the floor. In the split second it took for the Vulcan to recompose his features and silently retrieve the pad, Jim remembered two things: One, he was wearing his favorite panties, and two, his uniform shirt was a little too small and always rode up when he bent over.  
  
His head whipped back around to where Spock was standing, now facing away from him, looking very preoccupied with his equipment, and Jim felt himself go red from his neck to his ears.  
  
Sitting back down in his chair, slowly, Jim looked around to see if anyone else had seen anything (if they had, they didn’t appear to be showing it) and noticed that the yeoman had placed the pad on the arm of his chair and scampered off.  
  
Burying his face in his hand, he tried to calm the embarrassment, panic and…arousal that were beginning to well up inside of him. What would Spock think of him now? His _captain_ , wearing lacy panties…he was clearly horrified, clearly…  
  
Jim recalled the wide-eyed look on the Vulcan’s face. It had almost looked as if there were something else. Something slow and dark and building about that expression…then again, Jim was probably just projecting his fantasies….  
  
He chanced a peek through his fingers, glancing over in his first officer’s general direction, and was promptly startled from his internal shitstorm by what he saw. Spock looked unfocused, staring not at his devices, but rather at the blank bulkhead in front of him. His eyes looked somewhat glazed over, as if he were deep in thought. But what interested Jim the most was the mossy green flush that colored his sharp cheekbones. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it on the Vulcan before, and with it came a rush of hope, anticipation fluttering around in his chest.  
  
There was a… _semi-_ safe way to test his theory. Taking a deep breath, he began to subtly adjust his clothing; he pulled his uniform pants low on his hips, and gave a few short tugs to the panties beneath, so that they rode high across the V of his hipbones, the arc-shape where the fabric thinned over the sides of his thighs and a small semicircle of bare-skin just beneath that showed above the waist of his pants. Then, surreptitiously (he hoped), he turned his chair so he was directly in Spock’s line of sight, and gave the beginnings of an obnoxiously loud yawn, stretching his arms high above his head and just barely closing his eyes.  
  
His heart jumped when Spock’s gaze snapped to him, then directly to his hips where he could feel his skin exposed to the air. The Vulcan’s eyes seemed to darken imperceptibly, his hands opening and closing into fists at his sides.  
  
Jim carefully let his elbows fall back against the arm rests, his whole torso slipping down and his legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankle in a natural pose he assumed during many shifts on the bridge. Only this time, it was very carefully orchestrated. Sighing in satisfaction, he let his gaze again flick to Spock’s face, and saw the Vulcan’s eyes fixed firmly on his. And then to the floor. And then in an agonizingly slow, hungry-looking sweep up the length of his body that made Jim’s heart jump into his throat. And when Spock’s eyes finally met his, Jim winked and offered a quirk of his lips, despite the pounding against his rib cage.

  
Spock seemed to snap out of a daze, quickly turning around and feigning complete concentration on his work. The green frosted tips of his ears were the only things that betrayed him.

 

*

 

Jim looked up from his pad at the sound of the door chime.  
  
“Enter,” he called, glancing back down briefly to finish signing a document. When his eyes moved upward, he saw his first officer standing stiffly in the doorway.  
  
Jim felt his stomach twist into some convoluted Boy Scout knot. _Shit. He’s pissed off about what happened today. Sexual harassment lawsuit, here I come._  
  
The captain gave his best smile, rising from his seat to beckon the science officer inside.  
  
“Spock! Come in. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone—“  
  
Suddenly, Spock had taken what seemed to be three large strides that swallowed up the floor, and he was immediately in Jim’s space. His face was carefully blank save his eyes, which seemed almost unnaturally dark, the pupil nearly engulfing the entirety of the iris. Jim swallowed slowly, experimentally, and watched the Vulcan’s intense gaze drop and follow the movement of his throat. Spock placed two hands on either side of Jim on the desk, and the blonde took a step back, feeling the hard material of the desk hit his ass.  
  
They simply stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments; the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, when Jim finally spoke, low and breathless. “What can I do for you, _Mister Spock_?”  
  
Spock’s eyes didn’t leave Jim’s for a moment as he replied, unnervingly calm as ever, placing a gentle hand on the captain’s solar-plexus and pushing. “You can bend over, captain.”  
  
Jim barely had time to register his first officer’s words before his back was being pushed down onto the desk, a warm Vulcan body pressing in between his thighs and a talented mouth devouring his own. He quickly found his bearings, however, and arched his back, pushing back at the attack with as much force as he could muster.  
  
Spock held his wrists in an iron grip at his sides, and Jim felt the muscles in his chest and shoulders straining as he deepened the kiss, surging upwards and biting down hard on Spock’s bottom lip. He smirked in satisfaction as he felt Spock momentarily freeze and shudder against him.  
  
The smirk was short-lived, however, as he felt Spock’s lips attach to his throat, sucking blood to the surface of his skin in a mark that was well-above where his shirt collar ended. Jim moaned, throwing his head back as Spock’s fingers reached under his shirt, trailing up the skin of his belly slowly, dragging the gold fabric of his uniform up his torso in the process.  
  
Jim felt dizzy at the touch, his nerves on fire with sensitivity as he attempted to sit up. In doing so, he noticed for the first time how feral Spock looked. The tense silence was back as they locked eyes, Jim’s chest rising and falling embarrassingly quickly. Then a slow smile spread across his face as he bunched his shirt in his fists and dragged it over his head, falling back on his elbows and gazing up at Spock with his best ‘come hither’ expression.  
  
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this little rendezvous, Spock?” he spoke lowly, his harsh breathing belying the confidence in his tone.  
  
Spock tilted his head in that way that simultaneously infuriated and aroused Jim and spoke calmly, though his voice was hoarse.  
  
He ran an index finger slowly down from the hollow of Jim’s throat to the defined muscles of his chest as he spoke.  
  
“I believe you are being…what is referred to in human vernacular—“ Spock’s finger dragged lower, trailing across each of Jim’s ribs, eliciting an unrepressed shiver from the blonde. “—as a tease.”  
  
Spock leaned in over his captain again, breathing against his ear and bringing back the overwhelming, dizzying feeling from before. His lips brushed Jim’s ear as he spoke, and his hand trailed lower, over the blond’s hipbones.  
  
“In addition, I couldn’t help but observe your… _fascinating_ wardrobe choice. Specifically…your undergarments.” Spock’s voice was deeper and lower than Jim had ever heard it before, and as he finished, two fingers slipped beneath the lacy waistband of Jim’s panties.  
  
“ _Fuck!”_ he gasped, arching into Spock’s light touch and breathing heavily, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  
  
It was as if all of his fantasies had suddenly converged inside his head, his pathetic, huge, gay crush on Spock coming to fruition—he thought of himself naked, save for panties, sitting on Spock’s lap, Spock pulling them off his hips with his teeth; rubbing himself to completion against Spock’s thigh.  
  
Real-life Spock paused briefly, his fingers ceasing their ministrations, before digging into Jim’s thighs, dragging him flush against Spock’s pelvis. Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head and a breathy moan issued from his throat, his face unbearably hot as he felt a long, hard bulge press behind his balls.  
  
Spock leaned down, movements graceful and smooth like honey, and suddenly his mouth was against Jim’s throat, kissing up to his ear.  
  
“I am a _touch telepath_ , _Jim.”_  
  
Jim ground down hard against Spock’s hips at the sound of his own name being spoken by the Vulcan. And then flushed in embarrassment as he remembered the part about his big gay crush. Oops.  
  
He felt a huff of breath against his neck that may have passed for a chuckle, accompanied with a sharp bite to his neck, and then a laving tongue.  
  
“Obviously, your feelings are reciprocated, Captain,” Spock murmured low and gravelly against Jim’s throat, working the button to his uniform pants open with dexterous fingers.  
  
Suddenly, Spock stepped away and Jim felt cold.  
  
He whined, his hips shifting under Spock’s grip as his pants were quickly tugged off.  
  
“Get back here, I’m cold…”  
  
“Illogical, captain, as yours is the higher body temperature between us,” Spock muttered, ripping Jim’s boots off when they became an obstacle, quickly followed by his pants.  
  
Spock trailed his eyes back up Jim’s legs and stopped when his gaze fell on the blonde’s crotch, sucking in a sharp breath.  
  
Said blonde felt a tad self-conscious under Spock’s predatory gaze, chewing nervously on his lip.

Suddenly he felt hands wiggling under his ass, gripping tight, and hoisting him up high. Yelping in surprise, he wrapped his arms around Spock’s neck, his ankles crossing low on the Vulcan’s back. He felt himself exponentially more turned on at the feeling of Spock’s fully clothed body against his nearly naked one.  
  
Instead of moving to the bed as Jim expected, Spock surprised him by sitting gracefully in the chair in front of Jim’s desk, for visitors. The captain’s thighs fell easily on either side of Spock’s, and a full-body shiver rippled through him as Spock’s cooler hands trailed up his sides, dragging over the ridges of his ribs, and then back down to his hips, playing with the silky fabric of his underwear.  
  
Jim opened his mouth to speak but was abruptly cut off when Spock grabbed his chin, tenderly but firmly, and turned his head to the side so that he could see their reflection in the full-body mirror across the room.  
  
Jim flushed dark red as he took in the sight before him; Spock looked dark and slim on the chair beneath him; Jim was flushed and naked above him, his golden thighs spread invitingly across Spock’s hips and his ass stretching the delicate lace and satin of his panties tight. He felt his cock swell obscenely.  
  
Suddenly, Spock’s lips were at his ear, his voice hot and low.  
  
“You look like a slut,” the words were whispered directly into his ear, followed with a sharp nip to the lobe.  
  
Jim could not have stopped the high moan that tumbled from his lips if his life depended on it. Large hands gripped his ass tight, kneading (Jim repressed a very un-captainly squeal) and then roughly tugging him forward so that he could feel the hot line of Spock’s erection against his ass.  
  
He rocked down, once, groaning at the dual sensations of Spock’s erection sliding against him and his own dick pressing against tight abs.

Reaching down between them, he began to work open Spock’s pants, but his hands were gripped tightly and wrenched upwards, then carefully maneuvered so that they met behind Spock’s neck. When Jim looked up in curiosity, he noticed that Spock’s eyes were nearly black with arousal, dark and primal and unbelievably hot. Jim got the message and laced his fingers behind the Vulcan’s neck, tugging loosely at the short hairs there.  
  
Spock _growled_ , surging forward to kiss Jim fiercely, while shoving his own hands in between them to rip down his fly and pull out his engorged cock.  
  
Jim giggled, amused at Spock’s enthusiasm, sucking the other’s bottom lip between his own and biting down. Spock shifted his grip and cupped Jim’s clothed erection firmly in retaliation, causing the blond’s head to fall back.  
  
“Fuck, Spock. Shit. Come on…” he muttered, his first officer’s lips attaching to his throat, tracing already darkening bruises.  
  
Spock acquiesced, drawing Jim out of the panties and taking them both in a firm grip. A tight grip. And then remaining still.

 

 _The bastard wouldn’t move._  
  
Jim writhed in his tight grip, panting and flushed from his belly-button to the tips of his ears.  
  
Spock began to murmur against his throat.  
  
“You wear these…undergarments to shift every day.”  
  
He squeezed tightly at both of their erections and Jim choked a little, his eyes rolling back in his head.

 

“You think that no one can tell. It is very presumptuous of you.”

 

Jim rolled his hips forward, his head falling against Spock’s shoulder as the Vulcan dragged his other hand slowly up the knobs of Jim’s spine.

 

“It sexually arouses you to wear such garments during shift, does it not?”

 

Apparently this question was rhetorical, because the only sound Jim could make was a pathetic, breathy whimper as Spock continued to squeeze his soul out of his dick.

 

Spock’s voice dropped impossibly lower and his hand flattened against Jim’s back, pushing their chests together roughly.

 

“Every time you wear this pair of undergarments on the bridge, I want you to think of me touching you, Jim. Think of my hands all over your body, of you naked in my lap while I am fully clothed. I want you to think of…’riding me.’”

 

Jim absolutely _lost_ it, slamming his hips forward in a long, sinful roll of motion that started from his arced neck and moved down to his pelvis. Spock allowed it, releasing his death grip and allowing their wet cocks to slide together.

 

Jim began a steady pace, rolling his hips forward and watching in awe as Spock’s mouth fell open, small little sounds of pleasure escaping from those beautiful bowed lips, which Jim claimed again in a dirty kiss.

 

He came down particularly hard on the next thrust, slamming their pelvises together and then rotating slowly, licking a long line up the column of Spock’s throat and relishing in the breathy moan he got in return.

 

Jim could feel himself getting close, and being known for playing dirty, he reached for one of Spock’s hands, slipping one of the long digits into his mouth and sucking obscenely on it.

 

If possible, Spock’s pupils grew even larger, his head falling back in wanton abandon.

 

Jim skillfully traced his tongue along the joints of the finger, sinking his hot mouth down to the webbing between Spock’s index and middle finger and licking over the soft flesh. Spock’s hips jerked erratically, his other hand gripping Jim’s hip tight enough to leave bruises as he pushed him down hard onto his lap.

 

Jim winced at the tight grip but groaned in pleasure as he felt his orgasm rip through him, Spock silently shuddering through his own beneath him.

 

Releasing Spock’s hand, he slumped against him, boneless, heedless of the sticky mess between them.

 

Spock’s arms encircled him, cautious at first, and then slowly, tenderly trailed up and down his back.

 

Jim could’ve purred.

 

“So…” he mumbled against Spock’s collarbone, thoroughly enjoying the fact that the Vulcan let him run his fingers through and mess up that perfect bowl cut. “Is this going to make things awkward? You know, sexual harassment in the workplace, toxic environment, all that…”

 

He more sensed than saw Spock’s eyebrow quirk in a mix of begrudging fondness and bemusement.

 

“Negative, captain. Though results could be inconclusive; perhaps we should repeat the experiment in a different location for more accurate data. Such as the captain’s chair.”

 

Jim pulled back, his eyes wide with incredulity and amusement.  
  
“Spock!” he laughed, adoration flowing through him as he saw a sparkle of mischief in the Vulcan’s dark eyes.

 

“Purely in the name of science, sir,” he murmured, a hand coming around to squeeze Jim’s ass once more.

 

Jim’s smile was practically supernova bright.

 

“For science,” he agreed.  
  
  
THE END 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also on ff.net under the penname deathbysharpie, and on my ks archive, under afattribble. I just thought I'd gift the internet with this awful smut in three different locations.
> 
> also, I had to throw in that bit about HUMAN body temp being higher for my own righteous, annoyed reasons. Vulcans are desert-dwelling beings, people. Think of the animals that mainly live in the desert (reptiles). Hotter climate=lower body temp (generally). Trust me, I am an env/bio major. And if you don't trust me, look it up on the star trek wiki. peace.


End file.
